


Yours

by Amorfati32



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-15 00:56:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14148408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amorfati32/pseuds/Amorfati32
Summary: A response to the Tumblr prompt: "Aren't you mine, Scully?"





	Yours

“Mulder…Mulder…?….Mulder!”

Mulder startled as his partner yelled at him, coming awake in time to swerve the car back onto the right side of the road. Thankfully it was a quiet time of day and traffic was sparse, but still, as he glanced sheepishly across the console at Scully, he could see she was pissed, and rightfully so. “Sorry,” he mumbled, taking one hand off the steering wheel to rub at his eye. “I’m awake.”

“You are now. You drifted off back there.” Scully folded her arms in front of her, meaning business. “Pull over.”

“What? No, I’m awake Scully.”

“You’ve barely slept in the last three days. Pull over and I’ll drive.”

“You look as bad as I feel,” he countered. It was true, Scully looked exhausted, sporting dark circles underneath her bloodshot eyes. He glanced down and saw her pinch the skin of her left arm, no doubt trying to stay awake herself. “I’m awake,” he repeated, fooling no one. It had been an awful week spent in Boston, the two of them called in to help investigate a series of ritualistic child murders. Mulder had spent the past six days trying to get into the mind of a serial killer, while Scully had to endure autopsy after autopsy, so the point where she wondered whether the bodies were on a conveyor belt. Thankfully the case was over, though the images of the mutilated bodies of children would stay with them both for a long, long time. Little girls like Emily, baseball-loving little boys like William had once been. Cases involving children were always hard, but recently, with their son firmly in their thoughts, this one had threatened to break them both. Luckily the killer was caught before he could add to his body count and Mulder and Scully were free to return to drive back to DC. At least, that was the plan. 

“If you keep on driving you’re going to get us killed. It’s better if I drive. You can sleep.”

“Scully, you’re slurring your words. You need to sleep just as much as I do.”

“Fine.” She looked out of the window, glancing at the signs they were passing, though Mulder noticed she was blinking furiously, trying to focus on her task. Then, suddenly she spoke again, pointing to their right. “Over there,” she said, and Mulder followed her gaze to a roadside motel in the distance. As they approached he noticed it didn’t look particularly special, instead worn and dated, but the sign informed them of vacancies, and the thought of a worn, dated bed was a lot better than a car crash. The thought of sleep too much to pass up, Mulder pulled the car up into the parking lot then, retrieving their overnight bags from the trunk, followed his partner into the reception, where a short, balding man with glasses – a mini Skinner, he thought to himself, half wondering whether or not he was dreaming – was leafing through a magazine similar to the ones Mulder used to hide underneath his bed when he was a teenager.

Nonplussed, Scully marched straight up to the counter and, when the man didn’t even acknowledge her, looked over the desk, locating what she was hunting for, and then slammed her hand on the bell.

The man looked up at her without lowering his magazine.

“We’d like a room please.” Mulder noted she only asked for one, but he was too exhausted to get his hopes up, let alone anything else. He zoned out as the manager replied to his partner, only coming to his senses when Scully prompted him for his Bureau credit card – it was the FBI’s fault they were so tired, so the Bureau could pay. Moments later the man was sliding the key across the counter towards Mulder with one hand, still holding the magazine with the other. He didn’t want to think about what that hand had been doing before they’d arrived.

“For you and your girl,” the owner said, shooting the two of them a pointed look. From the shit-eating grin on his face he obviously thought they were checking in for a sordid lunchtime rendezvous in a motel rather than catching up on much-needed sleep after a gruelling few days out in the field.

Before Mulder could respond, Scully interrupted, snatching up the key from the counter and shooting the man opposite a glare so cold Mulder was surprised his balls didn’t shrivel up and fall off. “I’m not his girl,” she said sternly then, without even thanking him, stormed off in search of their room. Sighing, Mulder nodded his thanks and hurried off to catch up with his partner, wondering whether she was just tired or annoyed that the manager had presumed they were together. Which they were, but they also…weren’t. It was complicated, so complicated that Mulder himself wasn’t even sure what was going on with the two of them. All he knew was that they still kept separate residences, but every now and then he woke up in the morning with a hot redhead wrapped around him and a smile on his face. That was happening more often now, but he’d yet to broach the topic of her moving back home, and besides, he wasn’t quite sure if that was what she wanted, and he didn’t want to make thing worse between them.

By the time he caught up with her, Scully had already reached their room and was busy trying to open the door with a combination of the key and brute force. Like the rest of the motel, it had seen better days, and Mulder only hoped there was some sort of flat surface on the other side of the door that they could curl up on and sleep. Scully did too if her impatience was anything to go by – ramming the door like her life depended on it.

“Aren’t you mine Scully?”

Pausing in her efforts, Scully turned to face him, noting his somewhat hesitant expression. His tone had indicated he was joking, but now that she looked at him she wasn’t quite so sure. She opened her mouth as though to speak but then seemed to change her mind and returned her efforts to the stubborn door, which refused to open despite her attempts. Mulder closed the gap between them, gesturing to her to step aside and let him try, and so she did, not quite meeting his eye. It took four sharp nudges before the door sprung open, revealing a room which clearly hadn’t been decorated since the 1980s. From the look of the comforter on the bed, it hadn’t been changed since the 80s either, but they were both too tired to care.

As Mulder set down the bags, Scully closed the door, kicked off her heels and padded over to him. As she stood before him, she suddenly took hold of his hand, surprising him. He’d presumed from her silence that she didn’t want to have that particular conversation with him at that time, but he was wrong. “I’m not your girl Mulder,” she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I’m your partner.”

“My partner.”

Nodding, Scully continued. “I’m your woman.”

He was starting to see where this was heading. “You’re my woman.”

“I’m your wife.” With that she lifted herself up onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his in a gentle kiss. “And it’s none of that pervert’s business what I am to you.”

“You are my wife,” Mulder agreed, his lips curving up into a grin, his sullen mood slowly improving. Despite everything they’d been through, all the arguments and tears and recriminations and separation, she was still his wife. There had never been any question of divorce.

“I’m your exhausted wife.” Scully tugged on his hand, pulling him in the direction of the bed. “Let’s go to bed Mulder.”

“I thought you said you were exhausted…” He was of course joking, and they both knew it. “…now you’re propositioning me?”

“Let’s sleep for twelve hours, then drive home and then I promise I’ll proposition you in our big, clean bed.”

“Our bed?” Mulder asked, pulling back the comforter to reveal sheets which he was sure were once white. Scully grimaced, then too tired to even argue, slipped off her jacket and climbed into bed.

His question seemed to embarrass Scully, and she stuttered her response. “Well, your bed, you –”

“Our bed,” he replied, slipping out of his shoes and joining Scully in the bed. “Our home.” He smiled as Scully scooted over next to him, slipping an arm around his waist as she settled her head into the crook of his neck. 

“Our home,” she murmured in agreement as they both closed their eyes and drifted off to sleep.


End file.
